


The Monster Special

by queenkrazykat



Series: Love and War [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome Bobby Singer, Brotherly Angst, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s06e16 And Then There Were None, F/M, Female Hunters, Frustrated Dean Winchester, Frustrated Sam Winchester, Helpful Sam Winchester, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Plot, Plot Twists, Revenge, Sad Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Being Sam Winchester, Samuel Campbell Being an Asshole, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Some Humor, Some Plot, Survivor Guilt, Suspicious Dean Winchester, Suspicious Sam Winchester, Sweet Sam Winchester, Tragedy, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28341879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenkrazykat/pseuds/queenkrazykat
Summary: In the small town of Sandusky, Ohio, a man massacres his co-workers in an unassuming cannery. Now with four years of hunting experience under her belt, Emma and fellow hunter Jonathan Mayward decide to investigate.Once there, they run into the famous Winchesters, and they realize that maybe... they've underestimated what they're up against. Eve, the mother of all, is back from Purgatory, and she's gunning to take over the earth. Trapped in the cannery with a creature unlike any they've seen before, Emma and the Winchesters must race against the clock to take it down.[Based on: 6x16 And Then There Were None]
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Rufus Turner & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Love and War [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075211
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

“Oi! Let’s go!”

Emma sighed in exasperation and wrenched open the door of her motel room, frowning heavily at the grinning, blond-haired man who stood on the other side. “Would it kill you to wait _five_ minutes?”

“Hey, in this line of business,” Jonathan said, looking suddenly grim, “you never know. It just might.” He dumped the duffel bag he was holding on the ground and began going through it. “Salt, machetes, silver knives, holy water… okay, I think we’re set.” He glanced back up at Emma, his face scrunched up in concentration. “Think we need anything else?”

Emma counted off on her fingers. “That’s about it,” she said, pulling the door shut behind her. “Although… I’d feel a lot better if we interviewed the victim’s family first,” she said, as she followed Jonathan to his car in the parking lot. “Maybe we should figure out what we’re actually up against before we go tearing after it like this.”

“Hmm?” Jonathan said distractedly, glancing around. The motel parking lot was empty, with the only light coming from the dull glow of lights behind drawn curtains. Not many of the rooms were occupied, which was no surprise in a town like Sandusky. Emma already missed the hustle and bustle of San Francisco.

Jonathan popped open the trunk and practically threw the duffel bag inside, apparently unconcerned about the sharp, clanking noise it made, but Emma winced. “Dude!” she said indignantly.

Jonathan looked back and forth between her and the trunk. “What?” he said innocently.

Emma just rolled her eyes and slipped into the front seat next to Jonathan. “Nothing. But I was saying—maybe we should interview the victims first, before tearing off down to the cannery?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Evan did say our fake IDs wouldn’t be ready till tomorrow. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve been on a hunt—I’m itching to send some bastards to Hell.”

Emma couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face as Jonathan floored the accelerator, sending them tearing through the roads of Sandusky, Ohio. Fortunately, the streets were quite deserted at this time of night, which meant that they reached Starlight cannery quickly; unfortunately, that also meant that Jonathan, unhindered by red lights or fellow drivers, drove like a madman. The result was that by the time they reached the cannery, Emma had to fight off pangs of nausea.

Starlight Cannery was a dreary place, set right on the other side of the town. They parked the car two blocks out and walked the rest of the way, as they usually did. A shiny BMW like Jonathan’s attracted quite a bit of attention, especially in places like Sandusky, and especially late at night.

“Okay, the entrance should be… right around here. It’s only a side door, but it should lead us straight through to the main factory floor.”

“Did you memorize a map or something?” Jonathan said in awe.

“Well, I did find the building plan—it seemed kind of stupid to walk in without—”

“Emma,” Jonathan interrupted. “You’re amazing.”

She blushed, and poked Jonathan in the shoulder. “Shut up and follow me.”

* * *

They found the side door easily. It was on the west side of the building, secured with nothing more than a simple padlock—probably because nobody in their right mind would want to break into a canned fruit factory. Jonathan made short work of it.

“Hold it,” Jonathan said, grasping Emma’s elbow to stop her from entering the building. “Promise me, Emma,” he said, “if we find anything nasty that we can’t take care of right away—we _leave_. No going after it. No heroics.”

Emma was startled. Jonathan sounded uncharacteristically serious and uncharacteristically cautious—nothing like the impulsive hunter he usually was. His brown eyes were fixed on her own, unwavering. He hadn’t looked at her like this since they’d broken up, more than six months ago.

“Alright,” Emma said. “We go in, scope the place, and get out. No heroics.”

“Good.” Jonathan sounded relieved. He let go of her arm and pushed open the side door, which opened noiselessly. “After me, I think.” He ducked into the darkness.

* * *

The factory was dark and eerie. The darting light from their flashlights caused things to bloom up suddenly out of the darkness—an odd crate here and there, and even a sign that said _BEST SEAT IN THE HOUSE!,_ with a picture of a toilet seat splashed above it. There was a distinct, musty smell in the air, mixed in with the sweet and sour smells of fruit. There were doors leading off into small rooms everywhere—mostly storage rooms, Emma thought, since they were filled with boxes.

Jonathan silently pointed to the end of the hallway, where there were a set of double doors. “Think that’s it?”

“Yep. That must lead to the main factory floor.”

They crept on, alert for any sound. Emma kept her right hand on her Beretta, and in the other, she held a silver knife, ready to strike.

They were almost at the double doors when she heard it—the telltale _click_ of a hammer being put down on a gun.

Emma cursed inwardly, and lifted the knife, but a harsh voice interrupted immediately. “Don’t even _think_ about it. Drop the knife.”

She dropped the knife, aware of Jonathan beside her, standing stock-still, his handgun dangling uselessly from his hand, arms raised.

“Turn around, slowly,” another voice said. This one was different. It was deeper and… weirdly, it was quite familiar.

Emma turned around slowly. Beside her, Jonathan did the same.

Two men were standing in front of them, both with guns, both aiming straight at Emma and Jonathan. One was tall, and the other shorter and stockier. The darkness made it difficult to make out much else about them, but from the ease with which they handled the guns, she knew they would have no trouble shooting first and asking questions later.

“Who are you?” the shorter one said.

Emma pressed her lips together.

“Sweetheart, you and Bigfoot over there better start talking if you don't want me to put a bullet through your head.”

“We’re cops,” Emma blurted out. Stupid mistake. They didn’t have their IDs on them—they were in the car, and they were outdated, too.

The taller of the two bent down and retrieved the knife that Emma had dropped. “Somehow, I doubt that,” he said, lifting it up so that the blade glinted wickedly in the dull light. “Cops don’t carry silver knives, do they?” There it was again. That vaguely familiar voice.

“Okay, fine,” Jonathan said, sounding supremely exasperated. “We’re breaking in, happy? Now who the hell are you guys?”

Something clicked in Emma’s memory. “Hold on,” she said. “Are you-are you Sam? Sam from Cold Oak, South Dakota?”

The two of them looked at each other, apparently startled. Then the taller one spoke. “How do you know about Cold Oak?”

“Because I was there. I’m Emma.”

The taller one—Sam—glanced at his companion, and then stepped closer to Emma and Jonathan. The dim light from a nearby storeroom illuminated his face, and there was no doubt about it—this was the Sam she had met in Cold Oak, except with longer hair. He no longer moved awkwardly, either; his movements were slow, deliberate, and graceful. “Wait, seriously?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re hunters,” Emma said, jerking her head towards Jonathan. Figuring they were no longer in danger of being shot, she lowered her hands. “We’re investigating the guy who killed those people in the factory today morning—”

“Hold it,” Sam’s companion interrupted. “Sam, you know these two?”

“Well, yeah. Kind of. I know Emma, at least,” Sam said. “This is Dean, my brother.”

Dean nodded impassively. Emma looked at him with interest. As an adopted daughter, she looked nothing like her brother, and was always fascinated by the resemblance between siblings. Dean had green eyes like his brother, but that was where the resemblance stopped. His hair was more dark-blonde than brown, sporting a short crew-cut. He looked less than thrilled to be running into fellow hunters in the midst of a hunt, and Emma didn’t blame him.

“This is Jonathan,” Emma said. “He’s my part-my _hunting_ partner.”

Jonathan shot Sam and Dean a brilliant smile. “Delighted to meet you, gents.”

Sam handed Emma’s silver knife back to her. “But how did—I mean, we dropped you off at the hospital—”

“I recovered,” Emma said brightly, determined to head off Sam before he let something slip. Nobody in her life knew about her past—not the truth, anyway. She had spun the story that her brother had been possessed by a demon, and a hunter named Sam had helped her exorcise it. She had been a hunter ever since. “Woke up three weeks later, figured I had either hallucinated the whole thing, or it was actually real—and they’re real.” She gave a nervous laugh. “So, here I am.”

“What about your brother?”

The question stopped Emma short. “He’s dead,” she said curtly. It had been four years, but every mention of him was as painful as a punch to the gut. Which was an improvement, really—during the first few months, it had taken everything she had to _not_ break down in tears every time she thought of him, or her mother.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said.

“I hate to break up this little repartee,” Dean interrupted, “but maybe we should—”

The double doors behind Emma and Jonathan burst open and two men barged in, guns raised and trained on Emma and Jonathan.

“Hands up!” One of them barked—a lanky, dark-skinned man.

“Hey, Rufus, it’s alright!” Sam said quickly. “We know them—they’re good. They’re hunters too.”

“Hunters?” Rufus grunted. “What is this—some kind of hunter convention? Why are there so many damn hunters here?”

“We’re tracking the signs all down the I-80,” Jonathan said. He was speaking calmly, but Emma saw that his hand was on his own gun, and the knuckles were white. “We came here to see what’s been making all those people go batshit crazy.”

“You mean, you don’t know what you’re hunting?” Rufus’s companion said. He was shorter than Rufus and a good deal stockier, and he wore a blue and white trucker’s cap.

“Uh...” Jonathan cast Emma a quick glance. “Not really? We just came to—”

“Damn stupid of you, if you ask me,” the trucker said. He looked back and forth between Emma and Jonathan for a moment, and then lowered his gun. “Bobby Singer.”

“I’m Jonathan Mayward,” Jonathan said, sounding slightly relieved. “This is Emma Stallard.”

“I’m assuming you know what we’re hunting,” Emma said, nodding to Bobby.

Bobby sniffed somewhat disapprovingly. “A creature from Purgatory,” he explained. “She calls herself Eve.”

“Whoa,” Jonathan said. “Eve… as in, Adam and Eve?”

“The very same,” Bobby said. “She was here about ten thousand years ago. Every freak that walks the face of the earth can be traced back to her. And she’s back. Alive, kicking, and supremely pissed off.”

“Balls,” Jonathan muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wait, so...” Emma struggled to wrap her head around what Bobby had just told them. “Is Eve responsible for whatever’s been happening down the I-80? The vamp nest? The werewolves? The ghouls?”

“Yep,” Bobby said gruffly. “We’re pretty sure, at least.”

“Balls,” Jonathan said again.

Bobby gave him an appraising look. “Well, as long as we’re all here—”

The double doors opened for the second time. Two people walked through, guns raised and pointed straight at the group. One of them was a young woman with black hair, about Emma’s own age. The other was a bald man with supremely bushy eyebrows. There was silence for a moment as everyone froze. Deer caught in headlights. And then—

“Dean?” the woman said. The barrel of her gun dipped.

Dean’s face had become as hard as stone. “Welcome to next time,” he said, and raised his gun, pointing it straight at Bushy Eyebrows.

The next couple of minutes were chaos. The woman yelled and pushed her companion out of the way, Sam pounced on Dean and wrested the gun from his grip, and Bobby shoved Emma and Jonathan out of the way. Emma crashed into the wall, and her shoulder erupted with pain.

“Hold it! Hold it!” Bobby’s roar cut through the melee. “Dean, put the damn gun down!” Sam stopped wrestling with Dean and looked up.

“I said I’d kill him!” Dean bellowed. His face was twisted with fury, and he was straining against his brother’s grip. “I said I’d kill him the next time I saw him!”

“Shit, Emma,” Jonathan said, quiet enough so that only she could hear. He had an arm protectively around her shoulders. “What the hell did we walk into?”

“I take it you know each other,” Rufus said.

Dean threw Rufus an irritated look. “He’s our grandfather.”

Rufus looked mildly surprised. “Oh. Somebody needs a hug.”

Bobby regarded Dean’s grandfather with great dislike. “What are you doing here, Samuel?”

Samuel gave Bobby an equally dirty look. “We’re working. You?”

“None of your damn business!” Dean yelled.

“Let’s go,” Emma muttered to Jonathan. To the group at large, she said, “We’ll be waiting… outside,” she finished lamely.

* * *

They took refuge in one of the smaller storage rooms that led off the hallway. Jonathan puffed out his cheeks as he closed the door behind them. “Those guys have a messed up family.”

“I’ll bet,” Emma said. “I wonder what Samuel did to make Dean want to kill him?”

“It’s like Keeping Up With the Kardashians, except with guns,” Jonathan mused. He poked at one of the boxes and peered inside. “Ugh. This smells disgusting.”

Emma shook her head. “How do you know it’s anything like Keeping Up With the Kardashians?”

Jonathan shrugged, pushing the box away. “Cheap motels, cable TV—you do the math.”

The door burst open and Sam and Dean strode in. Sam looked harried, and Dean looked like he might put a bullet through the next person who dared to speak to him.

“What is wrong with you?” Dean demanded of Sam.

“Look, maybe he knows something,” Sam said.

“You don’t remember what he did, Sam,” Dean said, jabbing a finger at Sam’s chest. “I do.”

“I know,” Sam said soothingly. “I’m not saying don’t kill him. I’m just saying—not yet.”

Dean grunted, and then seemed to notice Emma and Jonathan standing there and listening to every word, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“Family, am I right?” Jonathan said jovially, giving Dean finger guns. Emma immediately nudged him in the ribs and gave him a look that plainly said, _shut the fuck up._

Sam simply shot him an exasperated look before leaving, the door swinging shut behind him. They heard the raised voices of Bobby and Rufus before it swung closed.

* * *

Dean clenched his jaw, trying not to take much notice of Emma or Jonathan. He was furious at Bobby for telling him to leave as though he was a little kid, and he was furious at Sam for treating him like he was a dangerous, gun-swinging lunatic. He was vaguely aware of Emma and Jonathan having a conversation behind him, their voices too low for him to make anything out.

The door swung open, and Gwen stepped in. Her lips were tightly pressed together, and she looked rather white. “Is it true?” she said to Dean.

“Is what true?” Dean said aggressively.

“Did Samuel really try to kill you?”

Dean hesitated. “Yes,” he said finally. Then, knowing that this would upset Gwen but not caring, he added, “He didn’t even blink. That’s the guy you’re rolling with.”

Gwen was silent for a minute.

“Hey, guys?” Emma’s voice said hesitantly from behind him. “There’s something you need to see.”

Dean sighed loudly in irritation. “What—”

He didn’t get to finish. Emma, quick as a squirrel, whipped out her gun, aimed at Gwen, and fired. She then aimed at Dean, but he ducked. Jonathan immediately grabbed hold of Emma, forcing the barrel of the gun downwards and away; he was stronger than her, and she knew it. She gave up on the gun and whipped her knee up, catching Jonathan in the stomach. Jonathan grunted and stumbled back, but recovered quickly. Emma’s gaze flicked to Dean, who was pointing his own gun at her. Dean’s finger was on the trigger—but before he could pull it, Emma thrust her hand out, and the wall imploded, showering them all in chunks of concrete and wood.

Dust obscured everything for a second. Dean’s finger was still on the trigger, but he didn’t dare shoot—he didn’t want to hit Jonathan. There were shouts from behind him—Bobby, Rufus and Sam, all rushing in.

When the dust cleared, Emma was gone. Jonathan was kneeling on the floor, looking plainly shocked, his gun in his hand, the barrel dipping uselessly towards the ground. Gwen was lying on the ground beside Dean, her eyes closed, her chest still. Blood bloomed across her front, the red of it harsh in the dusty room.

Sam dropped to his knees beside Gwen and checked her pulse. “She’s alive—barely.”

Rufus—showing surprising flexibility for a man his age—got down beside Sam. “She’s probably in shock.”

“Will she make it?” Samuel said. His voice was expressionless, but his face was tightly drawn.

Rufus didn’t answer. He started chest compressions for Gwen, but Dean knew there was no point. Gwen had already gone into shock, and she’d already lost too much blood; it had soaked through her shirt and was staining the floor.

Rufus sat back on his haunches. “Ah, damn it.”

Bobby’s face was grim. “I’m sorry,” he said to Samuel. “If you care, that is.”

“Screw you,” Samuel spat. “I care.”

Sam pulled Dean aside. “What the hell happened?” he said, in a low voice.

“Your little girlfriend there went crazy and shot Gwen,” Dean said roughly. “And not to be a hard-assed prick, but—”

“Emma would never do something like that,” Jonathan broke in. He looked rather pale.

“What?” Dean demanded. “You _saw_ her—”

“I know what I saw,” Jonathan interrupted. “I saw her turn the gun on your friend there—and then the freaking wall imploded.”

Dean glanced at Sam. If Sam had met her in Cold Oak, if she had been there because she, too, was one of Azazel’s little experiments—who knew what she was capable of?

“Let’s say Emma didn’t do it on purpose,” Sam said. “You think whatever got into those guys—got into her?”

“I’m positive,” Jonathan said. He winced slightly and put up a hand to his head. A steady trickle of blood was dripping down his face.

“I don’t get it, though,” Sam said, frowning. “What is this—some kind of demon possession?”

“Can’t be, can it?” Jonathan said. He pulled back the collar of his shirt, revealing a tattoo—a pentagram inscribed inside a burning sun. “We’ve got this.”

Sam looked surprised. “So… this thing isn’t stopped by anti-possession tattoos.”

Dean squared his shoulders. “Well, in that case,” he said, “We need to find her before she finds us.”


	3. Chapter 3

The main factory floor was divided into three sections: an east wing which was directly opposite the side door, a south wing, and a north wing. Since time was of the essence, they decided to split up. Jonathan was strongly opposed to the idea—as he put it quite bluntly, “How do I know you won’t just kill her if you do find her?”

In the end, Dean suggested he pair up with Samuel, and he grudgingly accepted. If anyone had any reason to kill Emma, it was Samuel, so Jonathan was happy to have the opportunity to keep a close eye on him. While the two of them covered the south wing, Sam and Dean searched the north wing. Bobby and Rufus were left to tackle the east wing.

Dean felt jumpy—a feeling that was quite alien to him. It was as though a miniature creature was sitting on his shoulder, whispering and cackling at their misfortune. This was not the first time they had gone after another hunter, so why was he so unnerved? He chalked it down to Samuel’s unexpected appearance and the eeriness of the factory, the way it amplified every sigh and every footstep.

And then they spotted her, almost at the same time that she spotted _them._ Dean whipped up his gun, but Emma was quicker. She had the gun cocked and aimed at him before Dean had even removed the safety.

“Drop the gun,” he demanded.

“You first,” Emma said. Her voice trembled a little, but her eyes—a shocking blue color—were razor sharp, and her grip on her gun was steady.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is—”

“You’re the least of my worries right now, alright?” Emma interrupted. Dean saw that she was quite shaken—perhaps more than he had thought. There was a wild, haunted look in her eyes, and her gaze was slightly off, as if she couldn’t quite focus on them. “I just had a-a huge, black _bug_ crawl out of my ear, alright?”

“What?” Dean said, wondering if he had heard her correctly.

“I just woke up on the ground here—just in time to see this big slimy _thing_ crawl out of my freaking ear and climb into that vent.” She pointed at a vent that was set into the ground, just a few feet away, and shuddered. “So—what the hell is going on?”

“You killed Gwen,” Sam said. “That’s what’s going on.”

“Gwen?” Emma said, looking puzzled. “Oh—your friend?” She backtracked at the hostility on Dean’s face. “Look, I _swear—_ I didn’t kill her. The last thing I remember is waiting in the storage room with Jonathan, and then you two walked in. The thing must have jumped me—whatever the ‘thing’ is.”

“Or,” Sam supplied, “that _thing_ is still possessing you, and we can’t trust a word you’re saying.”

“It’s not!”

“Fortunately, there’s an easy test,” Dean said. “Check your ear.”

Emma looked at him as if he’d dropped from the moon. “Check my _ear_? What for?” Then she yelped as Dean smartly sidestepped her and stuck a finger in her ear. “Hey! What the hell?” She leapt backward and gave him a look of deep disgust. “At least buy me a drink before you start getting your moves on.”

Dean bit back a smile. “Yep, we’re goo-positive.”

“ _What_ positive?”

“Goo.”

Emma sighed in exasperation. “I _know_ that’s goo,” she said. “What's it do?”

By this time, Bobby, Rufus, Samuel and Jonathan had found them, no doubt attracted by Emma’s yelping and yelling. Sounds carried easily in the silent factory, echoing and bouncing off the walls. Dean couldn’t imagine the racket that went on during the day, when all the machines were up and running. He turned to the others and brandished his finger. “She had the goo.”

“Well, well, well,” Bobby said.

“Emma!” Jonathan stepped forward, but Sam held him back. “We still can’t be sure whether it’s in her or not,” he said. “Take it easy.”

“It’s not,” Emma said firmly. She crossed her arms, looking back at them defiantly, her chin stuck out and her jaw set.

“Alright, I have an idea,” Bobby interrupted. “Everybody, give up your guns.”

“No way.”

“Whoa, think about this for a second, Bobby.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Bobby’s voice cut through all their protests. “We don’t know who does and who doesn’t have this worm-thing inside their melons.”

“It’s not in me anymore!” Emma said fiercely.

“I didn’t say it was,” Bobby said impatiently. “Point is, we don't know who it is. It could be any one of us. So the best we can do is to make it that much harder for that thing to blow our fool heads off. Where… ah.” He picked up a sack and shook it, dislodging puffs of dust. “Put ‘em in. Go on.”

One by one, they all chucked their guns into the sack, Emma casting Dean and Sam sour looks the whole time. Dean simply winked back.

“I think I saw a locker in one of the rooms somewhere,” Jonathan said, pointing back towards the main hallway.

They trooped back to the main corridor and into the locker room. Dean felt strangely naked without his Colt—it was as though he was missing a finger, or a few. He kept an eagle eye on Emma, letting her walk ahead of him. She was walking beside Jonathan, talking to him in a low voice. Not for the first time, Dean wondered if they were together. The way their shoulders brushed, the easy way they talked, the way Jonathan leaned in close to speak to her. Clearly, they were comfortable around each other, in the way that only a couple could be.

* * *

“Okay,” Bobby said authoritatively, once they’d locked their weapons inside the rusted locker, which had squeaked and groaned loudly in protest when they opened it. “We need some time to breathe. Time to make a plan.”

“A plan?” Samuel said. He’d been quiet up till now—quiet enough for Dean to almost forget he was there. Just hearing him speak made Dean want to get up and punch him in the throat, but he kept his cool.

“I’m going to make a few calls, see if anyone has ever heard of anything like this,” said Bobby.

Rufus grunted. “Ditto. Got a few trees I can shake.”

“We’ll try too,” Emma said, holding up her cell.

* * *

Emma's efforts yielded little by way of results. None of the hunters she knew—not Jackie, not Evan, not Jen—had ever heard of a possession like this.

“Well, I’ve got a dump truck full of bupkis,” Bobby said in his booming voice, looking irritated. “What have you kids got?”

“About the same,” Emma said, hanging up.

“Me too,” Jonathan said. “Did Jen pick up your call?” he said suddenly to Emma in a low voice.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Why?”

Jonathan frowned. “She didn’t pick up mine.”

Emma shrugged. “She’s probably still pissed because you refused to let her join that hunt for the vamp nest in Ruidoso.”

“Hey, don’t go there,” Jonathan said warningly. “She’s my baby sister and she doesn’t go on a hunt if I say so—”

“She’s not a _child_ , Jon—”

A gunshot sounded from somewhere outside the room.

“What the—” Bobby jumped to his feet, immediately on the alert. It was only then that Emma realized that three people were missing—Sam, Dean and Samuel. They had slipped out quietly sometime during their conversation.

“I think I’m going to need my gun back now, Bobby,” Rufus said.

Without a word, Bobby swung open the locker, which screamed shrilly again, and pulled out the bag containing all their guns. Jonathan pulled out his gun—a sturdy Taurus—and handed Emma back her Beretta.

“Hey, don’t feel bad, Bobby,” Rufus said bracingly, looking supremely happy to have his rifle back in his hand. “It was a good plan, except for the part where a monster would definitely, _definitely_ not give up all his weapons.”

“Shut up.”

Dean and Sam burst through the doors. Immediately, Bobby, Rufus, Emma and Jonathan trained their guns on them.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, raising his hands. “It’s not in us. We’re safe.”

“How do you know?” Emma said forcefully.

“We were watching each other the whole time,” Sam explained. “If it was in one of us—I guarantee the other wouldn’t be quiet about it.”

This explanation seemed to satisfy Rufus and Bobby, who both lowered their guns. Emma was more reluctant to do so, but she did—with the safety off. She saw Jonathan doing the same and smiled inwardly; if there was one thing she and Jonathan both agreed on, it was that you could never be too careful.

“So, it’s in Samuel?” Emma said.

“Must be,” Dean replied. He had his gun out and was checking the magazine. “We’ve got to stick together from now on.”

* * *

They started searching again. According to Sam and Dean, Samuel had bolted towards the main factory floor, so they headed there. This time, nobody suggested splitting up.

They slowly swept through the north wing, and entered the south wing. Sam was leading, with Emma and Jonathan right behind him, and Dean was bringing up the rear. Each wing was separated from the other by a large sliding door which rolled around on wheels. As Sam pushed open the door to the south wing, the wheels made an awful screeching noise that made Emma want to clap her hands over her ears.

Sam stepped through, followed by Emma and Jonathan. Bobby was about to follow when the door abruptly rolled shut, accompanied by its usual demonic screeching.

“Sam!” Dean yelled from behind the door. “Damn it.”

Sam immediately tried to push open the door, but it remained mysteriously stuck. Jonathan threw his weight against it, too, but it didn’t budge. On the other side, they could hear Dean grunting with effort. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed, when the door remained stubbornly closed.

“You think it’s trying to split us up?” Jonathan said to Sam.

“Must be,” Sam said, stepping back and searching for any kind of lock—a keyhole, maybe, or a bolt that had slammed home. He had no luck.

“We could go around that way,” Emma supplied, shining her light down the dark hallway ahead of them. “If I remember right, it should loop around to the main corridor.”

Sam nodded. “It’s our best bet.” He yelled through the door, “Dean! We’re going to go around to the main corridor, okay? We’ll meet back up with you.”

“Alright,” Dean said, sounding distinctly unhappy about the change of plans. “Be careful.”

* * *

The hallway ended in another kind of storage room, this one completely empty, and a lot more dusty than any of the others they had seen. Presumably, it wasn’t used much anymore.

“Through there.” Emma gestured to the door at the back. “That should—”

A gunshot. Emma immediately whirled around, lifting her gun. Behind them stood Samuel, his gun raised, pointing at them, his face terrifyingly empty of expression.

People always talked about how time seemed to slow down whenever something tragic happened. Emma thought that was the biggest load of bullshit she had ever heard. Time never slowed down. It didn’t slow down for anybody. And what happened next, happened very fast.

Samuel tried to pull the trigger again, but Sam got there first. He fired, and instantly, Samuel collapsed, a gaping bullet wound in his head. At the same time, Emma felt Jonathan crumple to the ground beside her.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma was on her knees beside Jonathan in an instant, pulling his head to rest on her lap, her hands cupping his face. There was a high, ringing sound in her ears.

_Please let him be okay… please let him be okay…_

She repeated the phrase over and over in her head, as though by saying it she could make it true. But it was nothing more than a reflex, she knew, because there was no saving Jonathan. The bullet had gone right into his heart, and blood was now flowing out, drenching Emma’s hands, it’s thick metallic smell nearly choking her. His eyes were closed, his breathing labored.

Emma sat there, as still as a statue, and watched him die in her arms. And even after Jonathan stopped breathing, and the life left him, she didn’t move.

It was so stupid how people said that the dead looked like they were simply sleeping. That was what a corpse in a coffin looked like—all dolled up and made pretty so that the grieving friends and family could pretend that they were simply… asleep.

Real death was never so considerate. Emma had seen plenty of people die in her four years as a hunter, and every time, they looked eerily lifeless, rather like an extremely lifelike mannequin, with hideously limp and distorted limbs.

Real death was never kind.

* * *

By and by she became aware that someone had their hands on her shoulders and was gently pulling her away from Jonathan, helping her stand up. It was Dean, his strong hands on her shoulders, guiding her away from the dusty storeroom, back to the main hallway. He was saying something, but she couldn’t make out any words.

And then everything seemed to tune back into focus.

“—just a precaution, okay?” Dean was saying.

Emma tried to lift her hands to her face, to brush away the tears that had started falling, but she couldn’t; her hands were tightly bound together with zip ties. “Hey!” she protested, her voice slightly hoarse.

“Just a precaution, Emma,” Dean repeated. “It’s to make sure nobody else gets hurt, okay? That thing might have crawled out of Samuel and into you or Sam.” He said it in a low, subdued voice. Emma nodded numbly, and followed Dean through the door into the first storeroom, stepping carefully over the remains of the wall she had blasted open.

Bobby and Rufus were standing on opposite sides of a large steel table, on which lay Samuel’s lifeless body. They had been talking together in low voices, but the stopped as soon as she came in, giving Emma the feeling that they had been talking about _her._ Sam stood a little way away, looking uncomfortable. His hands were bound too.

“Alright, we’ve got to see if that thing is still in him,” Rufus said. “Bobby, you got a cranial saw in the car?”

“Of course.”

“You’re not going alone,” Dean said immediately to Bobby.

“Oh no, he won’t,” Rufus said grimly. “I’m going with him. We’ll grab some tools and see about getting some power in this place. Meanwhile, I want you and you to—okay, I want you to watch him and you to watch her and you to watch… oh, fuck it. If anything crawls out of _anybody_ , shoot the shit out of it.”

They left.

“Emma?” Sam said quietly.

Emma tried to reply. Nothing came out. Determinedly, she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

 _Yes,_ she wanted to say. But she wasn’t.

“Yes,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said abruptly. “Jonathan seemed like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, feeling like she was in a dream. “Yeah, he was.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence—a silence that seemed to press on Emma’s ears so hard that she wanted to scream. It was as though Jonathan had taken the air with him when he had died, leaving behind a vacuum.

Presently, Bobby and Rufus returned. Bobby was carrying what looked like an extremely sharp electric pizza slicer—the cranial saw. Rufus was carrying a duffel bag, which clanked loudly when he put it on the floor. “Alright,” he said, sounding pleased. “Let’s play Operation.”

“You boys want to take a breather?” Bobby said.

“We’re good,” said Dean.

Bobby wasn’t deterred. “We’re about to crack open your grandpa’s grapefruit,” he said. “Take a breather.” He jerked his head none too discreetly at Emma.

The brothers exchanged meaningful glances. Dean sighed and shunted Sam and Emma out of the room like they were naughty kids. Once outside, they lapsed into a conversation—something about Eve, but Emma didn’t listen. She was more interested in what was going on inside the room. Through the glass window set into the door, she had a clear view of both Rufus and Bobby, who had donned rubber gloves and were preparing to saw open Samuel’s head.

They had barely touched the saw to his head when Samuel twitched violently. Rufus stopped, eyes wide, staring down at Samuel—and then Samuel jerked to life, rather like a zombie. With the strength and flexibility of a much younger man, he shoved Bobby and Rufus backwards and jumped up from the table.

“Shit!” Before Emma could react, Samuel ripped off one of the legs of the table and shoved it through the door handles. Emma threw her weight against the doors, but it did absolutely nothing; the table leg held fast.

“Guys!” she yelled. Sam and Dean had already leapt to action. Dean had freed Sam from his cuffs, and as he did the same for Emma, Sam threw his weight against the door. Inside the room, Rufus was nowhere to be seen, and Bobby was still wrestling with Samuel. As Emma watched, Bobby shoved Samuel backwards, and he crashed into the wall, where he began twitching uncontrollably, as though he was having a seizure of some sort.

“What the...” And then she realized. Bobby must have somehow pushed Samuel against an outlet or a live wire—he was being electrocuted. A thick, black worm-like creature crawled out of his ear and fell to the floor. Samuel thumped to the ground, and at the same time, the door gave way under Sam and Dean’s combined assault, and they tumbled into the room.

Sam immediately rushed to Bobby’s side, and Dean helped Rufus—who, it appeared, had been knocked out—sit up.

“You okay, Rufus?” Dean asked him.

Rufus stood up, looking a little dazed. “This can’t be my heavenly afterlife,” he said. “The three of _you_ are here.” His gaze travelled to Samuel, lying motionless on the floor. “What happened?”

“Well, when we left, he was dead on the table,” Sam said.

“Yeah, ‘til he wasn’t,” Bobby said gruffly.

“So how did he get _double_ dead?” Rufus demanded.

Dean walked over to where Samuel lay, and gestured to something beside him that was nearly hidden by his bulk. “A live wire from the cranial saw,” he explained. “Bobby threw him against it. Must have electrocuted him. And then that thing crawled out of his ear.”

“At least we know what tickles it,” Bobby said. “Electricity. Question is—where did it go? Did anybody see?”

Emma shook her head.

“You two were down for the count.” Sam pointed at Bobby and Rufus. “Either it’s gone, or it’s in one of you.”

“Or in one of you,” Rufus said.

“No, we were awake—all three of us.”

“Did you have eyes on each other?”

“Yes.”

“100% of the time?”

“Define 100%.”

Rufus glared at Sam. “Like I said.”

“Guys, there’s an easy way,” Emma said. She walked over to Dean, knelt down and carefully unplugged the cranial saw, and held up the exposed wire. “We could just electrocute each other.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Song pairing** \- [CEMETERIES OF LONDON // COLDPLAY](https://open.spotify.com/track/03uqdEuopXPSCg4MvgA2fI?si=k9kKLIriQ0qs6t_xiOvkPA)

Emma flicked the switch and turned to Sam. “Alright, it’s live.”

Sam held up the innocent-looking exposed wire. “Who wants to go first?”

There was silence for a moment. Nobody seemed particularly eager to get electrocuted, surprisingly. Then Dean stepped forward and removed his jacket. “Come on.”

“You sure?” Sam said.

“Yeah. Hurry up, before I start overthinking— _sonofabitch!_ ” Dean yelped and jerked backwards as Sam touched the live wire to his skin. He leaned back against the wall. “That’s got a kick to it. Whew.”

“You’re clear,” Sam said. He turned to Emma and held out the cable inquiringly.

“Fuck,” Emma muttered. She stripped off her outer jacket as slowly as she dared and held out her arm. “Just make it quick,” she said to Sam.

Sam touched the wire to the bare skin of her arm. Immediately, she felt an intense buzzing sensation throughout her body, followed by a painful tingle. When Sam pulled the wire back, her knees gave way and she thumped to the floor.

“Whoa,” Sam said. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, head still buzzing. “Just… it’s not fun.”

As she struggled back to her feet, Sam held the cable to his own arm, and then pulled back, gasping from the shock of the sensation. Dean then took the cable and moved towards Rufus, who fussed a bit about his pacemaker, but finally gave in. When he was done, he cursed colorfully and grabbed the cable from Dean.

“It’s my turn now,” he said. He turned to Bobby. “Alright, Bobby. Let’s get this over with.”

“Sure,” Bobby said airily. “It’s not in me, so go right ahead.”

But something strange happened. Every time Rufus held out the cable, Bobby discreetly shuffled backwards.

“What’s with all the fidgeting, Bobby?” Dean said coldly.

Bobby gave a sheepish chuckle. “Just a second, boys.”

“Just a second, nothing,” Rufus spat.

Bobby lunged towards Rufus, snarling, and stabbed him in the chest. Immediately, Dean leapt forward, slugging Bobby around the head so that he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Rufus’s mouth opened in surprise, and he stared at Bobby in shock. He staggered backwards, and Sam caught him and lowered him to the ground.

“Rufus?” Sam said frantically. “Hey, Rufus? You stay awake, you hear me?”

There was no reply. Rufus was gone.

* * *

Sam and Dean tied up the unconscious Bobby while Emma sealed every crack in the room with a hodge-podge of duct tape and old newspapers.

“Well, hey there, you little herpe,” Dean said, as Bobby started to come around.

Sam frowned. “Herpe? What’s a herpe?”

Dean shrugged noncommittally. He turned back to Bobby. “Now, don’t even _think_ about shagging ass out of here, because we’ve got every crack sealed. So get comfy.”

Bobby smiled. It was a gruesome smile—more of a leer. “I am comfy,” he growled. “It’s nice in here. And you love this guy, don’t you? You really want to kill me and take him with me? Haven't you lost enough pals today?”

“We’ll do what we have to do,” Dean said grimly. “And we’ve got some questions for you, so you can either play ball, or we could fry up a little shrimp on the barbie.”

“What are you?” Emma said.

Bobby flashed her an evil grin. “You haven’t got a name for me yet. I’m new here.” He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “Eve cooked me up herself.”

Dean lost his patience. He picked up the cable, which was lying on the ground near his feet, and nodded to Sam, who flipped the switch. He thrust the cable at Bobby’s neck, watching impassively as Bobby writhed in agony.

“Who is this Eve bitch?” Dean demanded, pulling back.

Bobby snarled, sounding more animal than human. “The mother of all of us, and the end of all of you. By the time she's done, there'll be more creatures than humans. You'll live in pens. We'll serve up your young and call it veal.”

A muscle twitched in Sam’s jaw. “And how is jumping a few truckers going to help?”

Bobby laughed, a grating sound that felt like a razor to the skin. “You think I'm here to mess with a couple of Cannery workers? We led you here.”

“Why?”

“She has a message for you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Dean said through clenched teeth.

“You’re all going to die.” Bobby looked back and forth between the three of them, apparently enjoying the looks on their faces, and then laughed his grating laugh again. This time, the sound seemed to go right _through_ Emma, hitting her right in the bones. Almost automatically, she strode forward, grabbed the cable from Dean and thrust it at Bobby’s neck.

Dean and Sam exchanged apprehensive glances, but Emma was hardly aware of them. She was staring only at Bobby, who was twitching violently, his eyes rolling back to show the whites. The smell of burning flesh hung in the air.

“Emma!” Sam said sharply, and he started forward, but Dean held him back, his eyes fixed on Bobby. It felt like an eternity, but finally, it happened—an ugly, black _thing_ crawled out of his ear and fell to the floor with a sick _splat!_

Emma pulled out her Beretta, aimed, and fired. The worm exploded into a puddle of black goo, splattering the walls. Sam and Dean stared in stunned silence for a second, and then they rushed forward to untie Bobby.

“Bobby?” Sam said, shaking his shoulder. “Dean, I don’t think—I don’t think he’s—”

“Bobby!” Dean said sharply, lightly slapping Bobby’s cheek. “Come on, man, you can’t do this to us—”

Bobby’s eyes flew open and he gave a great gasp.

“Bobby!” Dean said again, the relief audible in his voice.

“Man, that hurt like a motherfucker,” Bobby said. He gingerly touched the side of his neck and winced.

“Sorry,” Emma said listlessly. “But I did what I had to do.”

Bobby looked at her with grudging admiration as he heaved himself to his feet, swatting aside Sam’s helping hand. “You sure did.”

The sight of the puddle of black goo on the floor was making Emma’s head spin. And there was the smell too—the smell of rotting flesh. She closed her eyes and turned away, trying to think of something else, but all that did was remind her of Jonathan’s lifeless form, in her arms…

“Shit.” She clamped her hands over her mouth and ran outside.

* * *

Sam found Emma being violently sick in the dry, thorny bushes that were scattered in the empty plot behind the cannery. When she was done, she staggered a few steps away and sat down heavily. Sam could see that her legs were trembling.

“Hey,” he said, squatting down beside her. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer at first. “It never gets easier,” she said, almost to herself. Then she looked up and blinked, as if just registering his presence.

Sam held out a bottle of water. “Got this from a vending machine,” he said. “I figured you might need it.”

Emma took the bottle and gulped the water down like a woman dying of thirst. “Thanks,” she said, a little out of breath. But the water had done her a lot of good—some of the color had returned to her cheeks, and her legs had stopped trembling.

She stood up and dusted herself off. “I need to cremate Jonathan.”

* * *

Sam could not help staring at Emma as they worked. She looked so different from the petite, scared girl he’d met back at Cold Oak; her once long-black hair was shoulder-length, and when she removed her jacket, he saw a long, white scar that ran along the length of her forearm.

They lowered Jonathan into the grave, and Emma began to cry silently, big tears slipping down her face. After salting the body, she stood there, gripping the lighter so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Sam gently took the lighter from her. “Let me do it.”

Emma nodded silently, apparently unable to speak.

Bobby and Dean, having taken care of Rufus, Gwen, and Samuel, joined Emma in her silent vigil. “You okay, kid?” Bobby said to her in a low voice.

Emma took a deep breath. “No. But I will be.” She turned to look directly at Sam, and her blue eyes flashed angrily. “You need to make me a promise.”

Sam exchanged a sideways glance with Dean.

“If you manage to find Eve before me, you need to let me know.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Emma—”

“I need to be there when that bitch dies,” Emma interrupted. “I need to _watch_ her die.”

“Emma,” Dean said again. “Revenge only ends in one way—ugly.”

“I don’t care,” Emma said fiercely. When Dean continued to look unconvinced, she added, “Revenge isn’t about getting peace, or justice—it never was. It’s about getting the bitch that did this to Jonathan.” She paused for a minute, and then said, “It’s about being able to tell his sister that I killed the bitch who killed her brother.” She looked at all three of them, head held high, her lower lip trembling slightly.

“Alright,” Sam said finally. “If and when we find Eve, we’ll call you.”

Emma relaxed a little. “Good.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a white card, which she handed to Sam. “Here’s my number. Well, one of them, at least.”

* * *

Sam was pleasantly surprised when Dean refrained from making any jokes about him getting Emma’s number, and he continued to refrain from it long after they had parted ways. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that eight hunters had walked into the factory, and only four had walked out. Either way, Sam was grateful for the silence. Running into Emma had dredged up a lot of painful memories—him dying, Dean dealing with the demon, the four months that Dean spent in Hell—during which Sam had gone nearly crazy trying to bring him back.

Eventually, his thoughts returned to Emma. How many others, like her, had turned to hunting after they had lost loved ones to monsters? How many of them pursued monsters in the hopes of eventually filling the pit of emptiness in their stomach?

The truth was, too many.


End file.
